


The High King and his Haradrim

by Aerlalaith



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Harad, Humor, Lindon, Poor Gil-Galad, Purple Prose, Second Age, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 01:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aerlalaith/pseuds/Aerlalaith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone has been writing Gil-galad erotica.  Erestor is on the case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The High King and his Haradrim

_The Elfin High King stood in the shadows.  His long, dark, luscious hair was unbound, grazing his buttocks with every sway of his hips.  His full lips curved in a smile, though his eyes were half-lidded and glowed with ten thousand promises._

_“Come to me, my pretty one,” he said, his voice as rich as deep silk._

_Thus bidden, his bed-slave stepped forward.  Loose red trousers whispered as he rushed forward and knelt at kingly feet.  Golden jewels at his wrists tinkled softly with his movement.  He bowed his head, and the king placed a bejewled hand atop his silken hair._

_“So beautiful, my exotic one from the far southern lands,” the King murmured, his voice deep like the endless bounds of the sea.  “And has your life improved here, amongst my elfin kin?”_

_The bed-slave lifted shining black eyes.  “Oh my Lord King,” he said, choked with emotion.  “How I love thee.  How I live only to serve thee.  Thou art beyond compare.”_

_“Then serve me,” the King commanded, lovingly guiding his slave’s mouth to meet his southern sword, hard with need and glistening in the candlelight.  “Oh beautiful boy from Harad, let thy mouth pleasure what passes **here** for . . . Harad.”_

_And with a moan of assent, the—_

“Erestor?”

Erestor slammed the nearest book over his parchment and tossed his quill across the desk just as his door opened.

“Erestor?”

“Glorfindel,” Erestor said, willing his heart to slow.  “Please, come in.  No need to knock or anything.  ‘Tis not as though I am going through Gil-galad’s correspondence and am quite busy.”

Glorfindel sighed.  He crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe.  “Yes, yes.  I know.  You’re terribly busy.  You are always terribly busy.  But Gil-galad asked me to track you down.  My humblest apologies.”  He shoved away from the doorframe and made a florid bow.

“He sent you?” Erestor queried, already standing.  He decided to ignore Glorfindel’s rather uncalled for sarcasm.  “Whatever for?”

Glorfindel rolled his eyes.  “I was in his company when he heard.  Seemed to think I’d have better luck getting you to come.”

“Heard?”  He had reached the door now.  Erestor made sure to shut it firmly behind him.

“The news.  You lock your door?  My, what secrets you must hold in your office, Counselor.”

“Don’t be absurd.  My quills and ink have a habit of walking off if I do not,” Erestor said.  “What news?”

“I think it’s really for the best if he tells you himself,” Glorfindel said.  Erestor shot him a concerned look, and they picked up the pace.

They entered Gil-galad’s private quarters to a scene of peculiar chaos.  Gil-galad himself paced the length of his sitting room, a sheaf of parchment clutched in his hands, his eyes slightly wild.  Elrond sat in a chair nearby, holding a small book, his lips twitching ever so often.  Gil-galad’s personal guard, Gilgaer, stood in the corner, his expression very, very blank.

“My Lord?” said Erestor as they entered.

Gil-galad whirled around.  “Erestor!” he said.  He thrust the parchment at him, face haggard.  “Look at this!”  He jabbed at it with his index finger.  “Do you know what this is?  Did you know that these existed?”

“Um,” said Erestor.  He took it from Gil-galad and quickly scanned the title.  **The High King and his Haradrim** , it proclaimed in rather loud lettering.  Erestor choked a little.  “My Lord—?”

“Erotic serials!” Gil-galad exclaimed.  “Erotic—nay, practically pornographic serials featuring me and some—some—some southern harlot!“

“Calm, Gil,” Elrond murmured.

Gil-galad turned on him.  “Don’t tell me to be calm!  You don’t have erotic literature featuring you and a slave boy circling throughout Lindon!”  He collapsed into a chair, holding his face in his hands.

“And Lòrien and Imladris,” Glorfindel murmured out of the corner of his mouth.  Erestor elbowed him.  He crossed over to where Gil-galad sat.

“Do they name you by name?”

Gil-galad grumbled something. 

“No,” said Elrond, helpfully.  He flipped through the book he held.  “But there is ‘His Royal Majesty,’ ‘The High King,’ ‘Lord of Elfin Kind . . .”

“Lord of Elfin Kind?” Glorfindel echoed, mouth cracking into a smile.  “ _Elfin_?”

“Thank you, Elrond,” Erestor said hastily, while also attempting to shush Glorfindel with nothing but the power of very fervent wishes.  He was less than successful.  Gil-galad let out a groan.

“You forgot ‘His Kingliness,’” Gilgaer put in.

“All right,” Eerestor said as Glorfindel snickered.  Gil-galad gave him a betrayed look, and he smoothed his expression as quickly as possible.  “We can’t arrest anyone if they didn’t name you specifically.  But I’ll make some inquiries and see if we can put a stop to this.”

Gil-galad’s countenance brightened.  “I knew I could count on you, Erestor,” he said, relief clear in his voice.  Then he frowned.  “But what of the copies already in circulation?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Erestor said.   He turned toward the door.  “With your permission?”

Gil-galad waved him away.  “You don’t need permission, you know that,” he said, the corners of his mouth still turned down.  His eyes lightened on the parchment that Erestor still held.  “Why are you taking that?”

“Evidence,” Erestor answered promptly. 

“Evidence?”

“Well, I can’t very well go confronting people without something to confront them with, can I?”

“Oh, yes.”  Gil-galad nodded, ignoring the mysterious strangling noises that Elrond was suddenly making.  Glorfindel raised an eyebrow.  “All right then.  Let me know how your investigation fares.”

“Of course, my Lord,” said Erestor.  With a little bow, he turned the door handle and slipped back out into the hallway outside the King's chambers.  

As soon as he was outside, he let out a deep breath, allowing his shoulders to slump a little.  Then he jumped as Gilgaer’s voice spoke in his ear.

“When’s the next one coming out?”

Erestor turned towards him.  “Should be done by next Tuesday,” he said, somewhat crossly.  “I suppose you’ll be wanting an advanced copy?”

“Of course.”

“Blackmailer.”

“Just my price for keeping my mouth shut.”

“Hey,” Erestor brandished **The High King and his Haradrim** at him.  “I’m pretty sure this is your copy.  Take more care next time, would you?  And make sure Celeborn gets his delivered.”

“Yes, yes, all right,” Gilgaer muttered.  “Tuesday?”

Erestor sighed.  “Tuesday,” he agreed.  “I will see you then.”

“Excellent, my Lord,” Gilgaer said.  He inclined his head and slipped back into Gil-galad’s rooms.

Erestor stood stock still for a moment, then straightened his robes and headed back towards his office.  Book seven would not write itself, after all.

 

 


End file.
